


Your Body Is A Temple, Let Me Adorn It

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dirty Talk, Foreskin Play, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Tattoo Kink, Top Sam, dick piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12689073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: "You ever thought about getting nipple piercings?"





	Your Body Is A Temple, Let Me Adorn It

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even have a pretense of an excuse this time, I just... I felt like this fic needed to exist. And now it does. With lots and lots and lots of sex and handholding because Sam and Dean Winchester can't fucking stand to be out of each other's space for more than five minutes, so WHY THE HELL NOT give them even more of an excuse to touch each other. I don't know, is the answer to that question. Every time I write one of these, I'm like okay, we are gonna talk about how Sam sees Dean as a person, thinks about his appearance has changed over the years, and other tasteful things. Did I do that here? No, I did not, because they obviously needed piercings in their most intimate places and THAT'S what gets all the limelight.
> 
> I'll save the uh, deeper stuff for the next one. In the meantime, enjoy some fucking porn and if it tickles you between your legs, TELL ME PLEASE, IT'S VITAL. FOR UH, SCIENCE. 
> 
> (and as always, tell me if I completely blew it, because I don't enjoy making the same mistake twice. Seriously.)

              For Sam, there’s always this surreal aspect of digging a grave in broad daylight.  He’s used to setting up lights, making sure that they are truly alone amongst the shadows of gravestones and mausoleums.  It’s simply an association – night means shoveling, the sound of steel digging into the hard wood or metal of a coffin.

            One o’clock in the afternoon, five feet down with his brother, yeah, it’s jarring, to say the least.  Not to mention it’s still incredibly hot in Alabama for mid autumn, and Sam’s been sweating since they started two hours ago.  Normally they dig faster than this, but out here at the absolute ass end of the Dirty South, no one is pressuring them to go any faster.  Sam certainly can’t be bothered, not when they’re absolutely certain that their current project will truly be the end of this hunt, and then it’s off for a week or so.  They’ve made their journey all the way from the far western reaches of Virginia, down through North Carolina, Georgia, across the whole of Mississippi, and now they’re here, four solid months on the road without much of a break, chasing the former Underground Railroad.

            Putting slave owners to rest does have a certain poetic justice to it, and Sam’s glad that they’re making a slight mark on history for the better, even if it is almost 160 years after the fact.  Dean’s been humming songs from “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” ever since they started, and even Sam can’t help but join in on “I am a man of constant sorrow.”

            That is of course when he’s not dead ass staring at Dean.

            Dean’s stripped to just his gray t-shirt, amulet back around his neck and its weight holds the material to his sweating chest, the worn fabric leaving precious little to the imagination.  Sam can see the hard little peaks of his nipples almost perfectly, and the shirt clinging to him makes it all the more enticing.  Dean knows that Sam’s staring, making his pecs pop deliberately every now and then, turning around so that Sam can’t see him and then resuming his position thirty seconds later.

            He’s being a tease, and Sam’s okay with it.

            “Last longer if you took a picture,” Dean says, pausing to get his water bottle from the grave side and taking a long, dripping pull.  Sam follows the stray drops of water as they mingle with the sweat on Dean’s throat, resisting the urge to push his brother down into the soft earth and lick up every single one.

            “Yeah, let me climb all the way out of here to go get my phone.”  Sam steals Dean’s water bottle and finishes the last swallow off, earning a frown from Dean.  Hey, if he’s not going to share, then Sam will make him.

            “Then stop looking at me like I’m disappearing – we fixed that curse, remember?”

            Sam smiles and tosses the bottle up over the grave towards the car.  “Only time you’ve ever been transparent.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Sam shrugs and jabs his shovel in the dirt.  “Think about it.”

            Dean grumbles and another ten minutes of shovel, throw, dig, shovel, throw, dig go by.  Sam lets the first stirrings of desire roil through him, his eyes still spending a lot more time on Dean than their task.  Dean does precious little to discourage him, and Sam knows for a fact he’s cutting a sharp look today too; tight jeans that hug his thighs and bulge, a black tank top that he swore he would never actually wear but is very glad he did.

            If Dean looks at his sweaty pits one more time, Sam is just going to stretch very, very slowly and let Dean shove his face in them like he knows he wants to.  Sam certainly isn’t going to kink shame him, and neither will Dean.  And yes, he’s doing some very unnecessary flexing but fuck it, his biceps look damned good today.

            The minute this corpse is a bonfire, Sam’s going to stop holding himself back and get as much of Dean as he wants.  They’ve been waiting three days to tear into each other, and Sam cares not the tiniest bit that it’s very likely going to be within ten feet of the BBQ they’re going to make of a former plantation owner.

            They catch each other’s eyes again, and Sam chooses then to lift his shirt and wipe his face off.  He pretends to not hear the soft _holy shit_ Dean lets out, and also lets the subtle slip of Dean’s hand to his bulge to adjust himself go by as well.  At least it answers his question – Dean wants him as bad as he does.

            Sam ends up looking at Dean’s chest, those perky nipples stuck out enticingly.  Ah fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?

            “You ever thought about getting nipple piercings?”

            Dean’s shovel stops moving and he looks up at Sam with raised eyebrows.  “Come again?”

            “Nipple piercings.  I think you’d look good with them.”  Sam leans his shovel to the side and hoists himself out of the grave, deciding that more water would be _very_ good right now.

            “How long you been sitting on that one?”  Dean follows him out and Sam sticks out his hand to help him up, their dirty, sweaty palms sliding against each other.  Sam tangles their fingers together and pulls Dean to him, going for a fast kiss that leaves behind the taste of virgin earth before turning him loose.

            “Long enough.”  The cooler is already sitting on the trunk and thankfully the ice is still mostly there.  Dean’s right fucking there, taking the bottle from Sam’s hands and pinning him between his thighs.  Dean reaches into the cooler and gets out a piece of ice, running it over his neck and throat while moaning, well, pornographically.

            “Maybe I have,” Dean says before dropping the half-melted piece of ice down Sam’s shirt, making him gasp as he scampers away out of reach.

            “Jerk!”  Sam calls out to him – but Dean lets himself be caught, his back to a huge oak tree.  Sam moves quickly and pins him, his hands braced above his head so that Dean _has_ to look at the damp hair of his armpits.

            Even after all this time, Sam still wonders if Dean actually does submit or just lets Sam win.  “You’re gonna share, right?”

            Dean takes another ridiculous drink of water, draining half the bottle before smacking his lips and giving Sam _you really want this, don’t you,_ stare that makes his knees quake.

            “There was this stripper in Vegas, don’t remember which club exactly.  Anyway, this was when you were maybe thirteen, fourteen?  Anyway, I snuck out one night, thought I was heading into amateur night.”  Dean’s voice is low, rough, _making_ Sam lean in to hear him.

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah – but it was for guys _and_ girls.  Didn’t pay too much attention to the first few because you know, amateur night but this guy, Sammy… he was hot.  Playgirl hot.  Tall, blonde, muscled – like, muscles that give _yours_ a run for your money.”  Dean takes another drink, and Sam can’t help but pull Dean to him to feel the heat coming off of his body, the scent of his labors.  Dean comes willingly, their foreheads pressed together.

            “Didn’t think I’d actually hear you talk about another guy like that.”

            Dean shrugs Sam’s remark off, pressing on.  “He had these piercings, through his nipples.  And in his hips, Sam, and fuck, the way he touched himself…”

            Sam doesn’t see Dean start groping him, but he is – and all he can do is spread his legs wider to give Dean more of what he wants.  “What did he do?”

            “Rolled his hips, played with his tits – don’t remember much else about the performance, or anyone after that.  It was, fuck, spellbinding.”  Dean kisses him then, getting his tongue in his mouth and as a result, the temperature climbs up to the sky and Sam kind of wants to have Dean right there against the tree.

            “Tell me more, Dean.”

            “That night stuck around for a long time, long enough that… sometimes I still jerk off thinking about it.”

            “About him, or having it done to yourself?”

            Dean tilts his head back, letting Sam rub his beard (another result of being on the road for too damn long) all over his neck and throat, rasping against his sweaty skin.  “You know how sensitive I am.”

            Oh yeah he does.  Hell, how many times has Sam made him come just by playing with his chest alone?  “Mmm.”

            “And sometimes, Sammy, I think about it.  How fuckin’ hot it would feel when you do that thing with your tongue on ‘em, where you-”

            Sam’s head dips all of a sudden to Dean’s chest and his mouth is on his left nipple in an instant, biting at him right through the sweat-damp material of his shirt. 

“Sammy, fuck!”

            Sam does indeed do the tongue thing, pulling the flesh into his mouth and flicking the tip of his tongue over the peak.  Dean’s got his hands on his head now, pulling him in close and the angle is terrible, up against the tree but Sam _has_ to have him, has to have his brother like this, right now.  His cock swells, his jeans allowing it to go absolutely nowhere but he can’t free himself, not yet.

            Dean’s moans are swallowed up by the leaves and turned earth, and it’s not long before the smell of arousal mixes with that of decay and wood older than either of them.  They do eventually make it to the ground, and Sam doesn’t let up, his mouth on Dean’s chest, contorting himself so that he can pull them out of their jeans. 

            Both of them are slick with sweat and precome and Sam feels hot even under his foreskin, pulled back just like Dean’s so that he can rub their heads, no teasing, just maximum stimulation as quickly as he can get it.  Dean shudders continually, the flat, rough part of Sam’s palm continually passing over his slit as he sucks and bites at his nipples.

            “Sammy, fuck, just… harder, right there, like that, keep fuckin’ going,” and so on, both of them getting rougher and rougher with each other.  Dean grabs onto Sam’s hips and doesn’t let go, rubbing right on the inside of his hipbones where it hurts _just right._

Like Sam’s already got a couple of studs buried in his skin.

            “Dean, are…”

            Dean kisses him hard, Sam’s bottom lip getting sucked into his mouth.  “Think they’d look really fucking good, don’t you baby boy?  Swear you’ve got the body for ‘em.”

            Sam comes in a hot rush, blowing all over Dean’s stomach, a million half-formed images of Dean biting his hips and leaving bruises for Sam to wonder about the next day.

            He feels Dean’s come wet his cock, getting all over his fingers and treasure trail.  They keep rutting against each other until they’re both shaking, shudders rocking them like some mistimed electric pulse.

            “Same question,” Sam pants, knowing it’s going to be awfully hard to get up and finish their job for a while yet.  “How long have you been picturing those on me?”

            “About as long as we’ve been fucking.”

            Sam doesn’t have to do the math – “so a long time, huh?”

            “Why the hell do you think I like biting you there more than anywhere else?”  Dean rolls Sam over into the grass beside him, barely raising his head to look at the mess on his stomach.  “No one knows about ‘em but me.”

            That nearly sets Sam off again, and he can’t help but pull Dean in for another slow, dirty-sweet kiss.  Dean scoops up the come from his belly with his fingers, sharing it with Sam until the breeze has dried what remains of it and Sam wants to pick Dean up and fuck him stupid against the car.

            Dean is the one to finally make them get up, not even bothering to brush the ground from his hair.  “We better finish.”

            The water bottle is still where Dean dropped it, and Sam drinks gratefully as Dean drops back down into the grave.  “We’re gonna fuck, just so you know.”

            Dean licks his teeth at Sam as he picks up his shovel, his eyes smoldering with anticipation.  “Oh, I’m countin’ on it, baby boy.”

            Sam’s just glad that he’s not the only one who’s an animal.

            They dig faster this time, but Sam doesn’t stop thinking about silver studs in his hips or black bars through Dean’s nipples, keeping his arousal simmering and making him want to taste a lot more of Dean.

            Finally, Sam’s shovel hits wood and it doesn’t take long before they have the lid off, their skeleton nearly dust. Neither of them take it easy on the salt and before long, Angus Ledbetter is a bonfire.

            Sam leans against the Impala as he watches the flames leap from the ground, Dean’s back to his chest and his hands under his shirt.  “Got an idea,” Dean says, relaxing as Sam’s fingers rub over his chest.

            “I’m listening.”  Sam’s mouthing at Dean’s neck, his scruff leaving his scent to mix with Dean’s already strong musk.  He almost doesn’t want to shower when they get back to their motel, just dip his tongue in the secret, warm places of Dean’s body the moment the door is closed.

            “Why don’t we head south, take a week in New Orleans?  Been a while since we stopped in – and there’s someone to see there, anyway.”

            “Who?”

            “Pam and Rebecca.  You need your tattoo redone, and while we’re there…”

            “You’re okay with Pam seeing you shirtless?”

            “Oh, it’s gonna be more than that.”

            Sam honestly isn’t sure he wants to hear what else Dean has in mind but if it’s taken them this far…

            Hearing the rest of Dean’s story from that night is still echoing in his mind when they pass out hours later fucked out and weightless.

He’s _never_ been more excited to pay a visit to The Big Easy.

___

There’s always been something beautiful about New Orleans to Sam.  Out of all the cities in the United States they’ve passed through, lived in, hunted in, and saved, it’s long been the one he enjoys returning to the most.  Palo Alto was a little too rich for his blood, Lebanon is quiet but _tiny_  - here, Sam doesn’t feel as afraid to be himself.

It’s also the only place that does Cajun boiled peanuts well, and it’s the one food Sam loves but Dean hates – so more for him.  Not only that, but it takes care of itself well, with the spirits of voodoo, Old World magic, and the unseen but ever present conclave of witches, warlocks, and their hangers on who keep it safe.

Sam’s walking down the street with Dean in one of the older neighborhoods on the edge of the city, where the swamp is a little closer than people like to it and the magic in the air is so thick that Sam swears he can taste it.  Their mission? 

Find Pam and Rebecca.

Sam eats the last of his peanuts and tosses the bag into a trash can, wiping his fingers on his jeans before catching Dean’s hand and holding it tightly.  “You think they’ll even remember us?”

“The last time they saw you, you were seventeen.  Me?  Yeah, they’ll remember.”  Dean smirks, and Sam can’t quite pin why – but he’s holding his hand, he’s smiling, and Sam isn’t going to do anything to change that.

“I don’t look _that_ different.”  He was nearly this height at the time, floppy hair…

Unless twenty years has aged him enough that it’s changed him completely.  There aren’t exactly a whole lot of family photos from that time to compare to.

“Yeah, you do.  You’re more…”

Sam gives him a look, making Dean think twice before he opens his mouth – but that smile is nothing but devilish.  “Tell you what, I’ll go with rugged.”

“Rugged, huh.”

“Yeah.  Manlier.  Scruffier.”

Dean stops to rub his knuckles over Sam’s beard, and Sam does nothing to deter him.  The relief of their journey coming to an end has put both of them in a really, really good place and as a result, Dean has been handsy as fuck, and it’s certainly not like Sam is going to stop him, oh no.  Not with the sex they’ve been having, or the promise of _a lot_ more to come.

“At least my masculinity is assured for one more day.”  Sam turns to kiss his brother’s fingers, and he stops just sort of sucking one into his mouth.  Dean pulls them away at the last second before replacing his hand in Sam’s and continuing on their journey.

“And if you need help being reminded, well…”

“Don’t hesitate to call you, got it.”  Sam smiles at him, and Dean blushes a little, either embarrassed at their PDA (which isn’t really a problem) or the fact that they’re about to walk into a tattoo and piercing shop to have work done in some _very_ intimate places.

They had decided a couple days ago to go just beyond what they had originally planned.  Further discussion had talked Sam into a frenulum piercing ( _just think about how much more head you’re gonna get, baby boy)_ and Dean, well…

Dean had decided on a guiche piercing.  Sam hadn’t even known that was something that existed until Dean had shown him a very hot, very informative twink porno and had poured absolute filth in Sam’s ear about how hot that would feel, with his beard rubbing all over his taint and how fucking sensitive he would be after that – no, it hadn’t taken much convincing for either one of them.  To be fair, Dean _did_ talk himself into that one, but Sam’s support had more than clenched it.

But the fact remains that it’s still someone else other than Dean handling his dick.  Yes, there’s confidentiality, but already they’ve got a lot to answer for, not only as hunters but because they’re the _fucking Winchesters_.  Sam is sure that word traveled through the grape vine somehow that they had died and risen again several times (rather recently anyway), and walking into a tattoo shop where they’re going to have to be still and answer questions isn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

And on top of all that, he’s going to be hard for the piercing part, because that’s apparently how it needs to be done.  Which means that all eight and a half glorious uncut inches of him will be the focus of attention, and Sam honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to handle it.  Yes, Dean will be naked with him but getting hard and getting turned on are two different things, and the latter is absolutely going to happen.

Why? Because, the not so secret pain kink is going to be _really_ hard to mask.  The bruises and bite marks that dapple his body are deliberately put there by Dean, and Sam does them right back to him.  Call it a product of the environment they work in, but Sam _definitely_ likes a little hurt involved when he’s deep dicking his brother.

“You look nervous,” Dean says, Pam and Rebecca’s shop – appropriately named _Voodoo –_ coming up in about two hundred feet.  “Trust me, you don’t have a damned thing to be ashamed of.”

Now is absolutely not the time for Dean to give him the _I want your cock_ look but he’s doing it anyway, and Sam wonders if they should have had a quicky before they came down here.  “It’s still someone else handling me.”

“I’m not gonna be jealous of Pam and Rebecca, Sammy, c’mon – they’re both nearing seventy.”

“What, you’re okay with just going legs up and going ‘hey, put a needle through my gooch so that I feel it more when my brother rims me?’ Yeah, Dean, I’m not exactly there.”

“Could always rim me _before_ we go in, see if hit helps.”

Sam sighs, because it’s honestly not worth his time to try and explain it.  It’s not a big deal, not really… but it’s also kind of a big deal.  No one else has seen him naked like this but Dean in the last… ever.  Not since the Bunker became home, the promise in the church, dealing with Dean nearly going full dark side…

Dean pauses them right at the entrance to the shop and makes Sam look at him.  “I’m gonna be right there the whole time.  Not even gonna make ‘em take us to separate rooms, alright?  We get it all done where we can see each other and Sam, if you wanna hold my fucking hand while you’re there, hold my fucking hand.”

He kisses Sam, hard and fierce, _mineminemine_ being written with his tongue all over the inside of Sam’s mouth.  Sam doesn’t balk when Dean puts his hand under his shirt and drags his fingernails over his right hip, exactly where that piercing is going to go and lo, it has him wet in a heartbeat, just like it always is with Dean.

With that sort of reassurance backing him up, Sam honestly doesn’t know why he worries.

They break apart, and Sam mouths against Dean’s lips: “when this is done, I’m going to fuck you right through the bed.”

“Deal.”

Dean’s fingers are almost too tight in his hand as they enter the shop, the bells above them jingling in an almost provocative manner.  It’s inviting in just the slightest unsettling way.

A large, broad shouldered woman covered in tattoos with iron gray hair looks up as they enter, smiling the minute she recognizes Dean.  “Didn’t think we’d be seein’ the Winchesters through here again.”  She has the slightest drawl, her voice like honey and magnolia.  Instantly, Sam likes her.

He just can’t remember if it’s Pam or Rebecca….

“Hey, Pam.”  Dean reaches for a hug, and is crushed to Pam’s ample bosom – and not to be left out, Pam stretches out her other arm out to Sam, bringing him in close enough to smell the rose-scented aroma of her perfume.  He hasn’t seen this woman in twenty years, and yet she’s welcoming him like one of her own.

Maybe he should worry less.

“Beck, you gotta c’mere!”  Pam releases both of them, waiting on her partner to amble out.

“What’s goin… well, blow me down.”  Rebecca is as short and wiry as Pam is broad and tall, and yet Sam and Dean get hugged tightly again for the second time.  “John’s boys, live and in the flesh.”

Sam’s arm nearly engulfs her, but she doesn’t seem in the least bit deterred.  When she finally lets them go, Sam can’t help but smile at the two of them.

“Since we were in this part of the neighborhood, we uh, need some work done.”

“Good thing you boys dropped by after appointment time.”  Pam winks at them and gestures for them to follow back, picking up a cane Sam hadn’t noticed and limping just a touch as they’re taken into the studio.  “And when you say work, you mean…”

Dean answers, grinning like a possum.  “Pleasure, for me – both for Sam.  Needs his anti-p0ssession tat redone.”

“How the hell’d it burn off, Sam?”  Without asking, they’re lead to a booth with two chairs, and Sam thanks heaven for not having to ask.  “Got burned off by an angel to uh, get another one out of me.  Gadreel.”

            Pam pats the right chair, and reclines it so that it lies almost completely flat.  “We heard of him, one of Metatron’s goons, wasn’t he?”

            “Yeah, and lied his way into me.  With Dean’s help but, I forgave him for it.”  Sam doesn’t miss how Dean looks away from him quickly, his back turned to Sam as he sheds his outer flannel.

            Rebecca’s obviously taking charge of Dean, so she makes him sit one he’s shirtless.  “Good to see the Mark of Cain’s gone from you, son.  Nasty magic – _old_ nasty magic.”

            Dean scoffs, turning to watch as Sam grabs his t-shirt crossways and pulls it off; Pam and Rebecca exchange a look, but being the professionals they are, say not a word.  “Yeah well… we learned from it.”

            _And we’re still here, Sammy._

Sam has to look down at the floor to keep the sudden rush of emotion from showing in his eyes.  “You wanna finish telling ‘em what’s going down here?”

            He decides that he isn’t going to take his pants off until he absolutely has to, but Dean’s already unbuckling his belt and sliding his jeans down.  Sam’s eyes go right to his bulge, and he swears that Dean makes his balls pull up just to make sure he’s paying extra close attention.

            Fuck it – he may as well be as ready as possible for this.

            Sam’s boxer briefs are _definitely_ tight enough to leave precious little to the imagination, not to mention he’s starting to get hard just because Dean’s is practically naked and within reach – chalk that up to Pavlovian response.

            Dean finishes telling them what they want, and Pam’s eyebrows go up.  “Y’all want all of that at one time?”

            “Don’t know when we’ll be back in this direction, and we sure as hell don’t trust anyone else to do the job so… please?”

            Pam and Rebecca look at each other, then back to Sam and Dean.  Rebecca looks over Dean, pulling out her clamps as she goes.  “Alright, but just so y’all know, it’s a lot to take care of.”

            “Yeah, well… we have a way around that.”

            Castiel had agreed to meet them tonight, but Sam hadn’t told him for what purpose just yet.  Better to tell him that no, they aren’t hurt, they just need to him to heal their piercings so that they can get to enjoying them more quickly.  Sam hadn’t just walked into this mostly blind, oh no – he’d researched the hell out of upkeep and risks, then decided they could use Cas’s abilities just _once_ this way.  It’s shady as fuck, but getting Cas to try and understand isn’t something Sam wants to tackle today.

            “If y’all say so,” Pam says, wetting a razor so that she can shave Sam’s chest where his tattoo will go.  He makes himself relax, looking over at Dean.  He’s cool as can be, and just like he promised, holds out his hand to Sam so that he can take it – which Sam does, gratefully.  The fact that neither Pam or Rebecca have questioned the nature of their relationship is another huge relief – maybe rumor about them had indeed finally spread far and wide enough.  Not that it matters, because the lives that they lead are so far beyond normal society that Sam just doesn’t _care_ anymore, not what they think about Dean and himself anymore.  Once you die the first couple of times, that stuff just becomes inconsequential.

            Pam lays the outline over his skin and presses it down so that it sticks, her focus rock solid.  “Don’t be surprised if I squirm a little.”

            “If you mess up my lines, you’ll have a lot worse to deal with a demon gettin’ in ya.”  She wags her finger in mock seriousness, but Sam gives her his best I’m a good boy expression anyway, and she smiles down at him.  “You two both grew up nice – John’d be proud.”

            Dean squeezes Sam’s fingers, more out of comfort for himself than anything.  “Yeah, he’d be super pleased to find out we’re getting piercings in our junk.”

            The sound of the tattoo gun firing up makes Sam’s heart race and his cock twitch.  “No, first he’d come after me for agreeing to this, and then Dean for talking me into it in the first place.”

            “He loved y’all anyway, and that’s just as true as can be.”  Rebecca is already rolling Dean’s nipples to get them hard, and looks no different than she would if she was dusting her living room or going to the mailbox.  Dean isn’t shying away, but Sam can see out of the corner of his eye where he’s trying very hard to hold still.

            No, Sam really isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off of him now, and they both have it bad for each other to start with.

            “You guys mind if we reminisce later?”  Dean’s starting to look a little peeved, even though neither Pam or Rebecca meant any harm by it.  “Sorry, I’d just rather leave him for the whiskey bottle and uh, not when I’m naked.”

            Pam chuckles, tilting Sam’s head back from his chin very, very carefully to give herself a little more room to work with.  “Sure thing, honey.”

            Sam turns his head just in time to watch the needle go through Dean’s left areola, and the sudden, tell-tale blush on Dean’s face.

            He just got turned the _fuck_ on.

            “Uh…”  Dean’s cock is starting to tent out, and Sam can’t help but be right there with him.  “Just ignore that.”

            “Dean, honey, you aren’t the first one to have it happen to ‘em – and you either, Sam.”  Pam’s starting on the outline now, and Sam’s trying his hardest to hold very, very still.

            “So do you guys hunt anymore?”  Maybe the less attention he draws to the fact that they’re both hard (and ten to one, Dean’s both hard _and_ wet) he’ll actually be able to sit through this without jumping Dean’s bones.  “Or do you do this full time?”

            Pam leans in a little closer to make sure she gets the flares around the edge _just_ right.“We look into things around the neighborhood every now and then, but when you’ve got a city full of magic as old and layered as this one, not much gets through here.”

            “’Cept that werewolf a couple months ago,” Rebecca says, her voice as light as rain on a rosepetal as she affixes the balls to the ends of the barbell through Dean’s left nipple.  “Nearly killed of Mama.”

            “Mama?”  Dean sounds like he’s been freshly fucked, and he still has two more piercings to go.  Sam’s eyes are glued to Dean’s chest, biting his lip as Pam starts to get into the difficult, intricate parts of his tattoo.  Every little dig kicks his arousal higher and higher, like he can feel the individual needles as Pam makes her slow, steady progress.

            “Yeah, Mama  - which who lives up the street.  Werewolf caught her outside and had it not been for some awful quick thinkin’, she’d have had to use that spell on herself again, lest one of us tried.”

            “You mean _you_ would have tried – my Japanese ain’t what it used to be.” 

            Rebecca scoffs, wiping Dean’s other nipple down with rubbing alcohol.  “Says you, but I heard you trying to talk to your late husband the other day, and it didn’t sound like you lost your touch to me.”

            “What, I’m not allowed to miss him?”

            Sam tunes their friendly arguing out and catches Dean’s eyes, irises nearly forest green and his pupils blown wide.  He licks his lips at Sam, _I fucking want you_ written on his face as clearly as if he whispered it against Sam’s mouth.  His mouth falls open as his other nipple is pierced – it’s the exact same expression as when Sam bites down on them hard enough to make Dean nearly cry.

            Their linked fingers tighten around each other, and Sam brushes his thumb over Dean’s knuckles.

            “You boys okay?”

            Pam’s taken a brief pause to drink from a sweating glass of water nearby, and Sam looks up at her like she’s just manifested out of thin air.  “Oh… yeah.”

            “Just makin’ sure – thought you two might need a moment.”

            Sam’s chest is absolutely throbbing right now, the ink that Pam’s using almost certainly a special mixture purpose designed to keep the demons out.  Whatever it is, it burns like a bitch and Sam can’t risk moving to actually _do_ anything. 

            “We’re good – how far along are we?”

            Pam grabs a mirror and tilts it so that Sam can see the progress she’s made.  “We got a ways to go, honey.”

            Sam lets his head fall back and braces himself for more.

            Rebecca lets Dean rest for a moment as well, taking off her gloves and standing up to push her long, gray-black hair back up out of her face.  “Mind if I go lock up real quick?”

            Sam wonders if the place has ever been attacked or targeted while they had someone under the needle, so “locking up” definitely involves more than just closing the front door.  “You guys have warding on this place?”

            “Mmm.  Given how many hunters we have in and out of here at any given time, we have to.  Magic tends to overlap, but we want to be sure anyway.”  She goes and gets a bit of salve to rub on Dean, to ease the swelling.  “You wanna rub that on yourself dear?”

            Dean takes it gratefully and doesn’t even bother to sit up while he does it.  “Don’t mind if I do.”

            She pats Dean on the shoulder and with that, ambles off, leaving Pam alone with them.  “Wasn’t too long ago that we hard Bobby Singer passed, bless him.”  Pam picks up her tattoo gun and resumes work, and Sam has to grit his teeth.  “Rebecca really had her eye on him for a while, you know.”

            “We didn’t, actually.”

            “Sure did – they both grew up in the same town, knew each other for years.”

            “He never mentioned her,” Sam says, making himself slow his breathing.  “How come it didn’t work out?”

            “Because, Beck’s as shy as she can be, even though I keep tellin’ her she ain’t got a thing to be shy about.”  Pam shakes her head, feeling just a touch sorry for her longtime friend.  “But I guess it’s a little too late to try and start lookin’ for someone now, isn’t it?”

            Dean laughs, setting aside the salve to take Sam’s hand again.  “Gotta be someone out there for her.”

            “It ain’t for lack of tryin’ to find the right mister, let me be clear.”  Pam points the tattoo gun to make her point, and Sam has to try and dodge the ink and blood dripping from it without actually moving.

            “Uh, Pam?”

            “Hm?  Oh, sorry Sam.”

            It was almost better when she wasn’t tattooing him because pain kink or not, assurance that he won’t become a meat suit – it still hurts like hell.  And it’s continual.

            Dean just holds his hand more tightly and gazes at him, almost smiling because he can’t think of another fucking place in this world he would rather be right now. 

            It’s a hell of a strange date night, but Sam won’t ever complain about it, not when in the end it’s just going to enhance the already ridiculously strong ways they get off on each other.  Already Sam’s picturing it, all the new ways they’ll be able to touch each other, how Dean likes to come up behind him when they’re home and run his fingers down his sides, or how Dean’s nipples get hard when the heating doesn’t work right.

            Either Dean’s thinking about the exact same thing, or they may indeed be a little psychic, because he’s looking Sam up and down and looking like he can’t decide where to put his mouth first.

            “Not even done yet, babe.”

            Pam pauses, one eyebrow quirked up at Sam.  “You say somethin’ darling?”

            “Talking to Dean.”

            “Looks like you’re doing more than just talkin’.”  She smiles and sets back to work, leaving Sam with his thoughts.

            So what if all of them involve Dean, naked and writhing under him?

            They stay silent, Sam focusing his mind on visualizing the ink being pushed into his skin, Dean’s fingers in his hand, rough, slightly bent from normal because they’ve been broken so many times but still very much his own.  Every sensation is heightened, every subtle change in the atmosphere making his skin prickle.  He can feel a tidal wave of feeling building up inside him, and it’s going to be Dean whom it crashes into once that zenith is reached and he can no longer do anything to slow it down.

            Before Sam realizes it, the tattoo is done and the air is filled with the smell of coppery ink and Sam feels like he’s had a hole burned in his chest.  Pam sits back and admires her work, clearly satisfied with herself.  “That ought to keep ‘em from gettin’ in you, darling.  You want to take a minute before we finish, or would you rather go ahead and get it over with?”

            Sam looks to Dean, and Dean shrugs.  “Keep going.”

            No sense in drawing it out, especially since Dean’s guiche is yet to be done, and Sam kind of wants to see that process happen.

            Rebecca finally comes back, pulling a fresh pair of gloves on.  “Had to make up some more hex bags – well Sam, that looks pretty damn good.”  She leans over to inspect the tattoo, close enough that a strand of hair tickles Sam’s shoulder.  “Nice job, Pam.”

            “Thanks, darlin’.”  Pam gets her piercing kit and an alcohol swab, wiping Sam’s hips down as she goes.  “You ever had a piercing before, Sam?”

            Sam shakes his head, a little distracted by Dean taking his underwear off and getting a perfect view of his cock, as hard as he can be and positively glistening with precome.  “No, I uh, haven’t.”

            Dean pulls his legs back and it takes a lot to not get up off the table and just _be_ there, right between Dean’s knees to do… everything.  Rebecca eyes him, her head tilted.  “I’m not gonna hurt your boy, Sam, don’t worry.”

            She pierces Dean’s perineum at the same moment Pam does his left hip, using his preoccupation to her advantage.  Dean whimpers and tries to close his legs, setting Sam’s instincts to _protect_ – but he can’t move, not with Pam attaching the ball to the piercing already.

            “Got another one, Sam, just hang on.”  Dean’s voice is rough around the edges, and it makes Sam want to kiss him very, very hard.

            His right hip blossoms with pain, but it’s over nearly as soon as it’s started, and that’s when Sam finally looks down at himself.  He tightens his abs just to watch them move, rising and falling with his breathing.

            “Sammy, you better not do that or we’re gonna scar them forever.”  Dean is already pulling his underwear back on, moving gingerly to ensure he doesn’t hurt himself.  “And you still have the uh…”

            “Frenum, I know – do you mind if I wipe myself off first?”

            Pam hands him a cloth and Sam pushes his underwear down, embarrassment making his cheeks burn.  He’s _aching_ from how hard his cock is, his foreskin completely drawn back.  Fat drops of precome run down his shaft, completely wet so that it’s making his pubes stick to his skin.  He cleans the underside of himself as best he can, keeping the cloth handy just in case it starts to get too bad again.

            “Dean, it might be better if you hold him still for me.”  Pam gestures at Sam’s dick, and it is entirely too much for Sam to handle right now as Dean curls his fingers around him and holds him straight up.  Pam dabs on a little bit of lidocaine, her movements as clinical as possible.

            Sam looks up at Dean, trying not to get caught up in how _wrong_ it feels for someone else to be touching him there.  Dean mouths _so, so close Sammy_ and it makes him feel a little better, not enough to shut down his panic – but better.

            Dean sees the needle before Sam does and with a finesse that can only be described as superhuman, seals his mouth over Sam’s and tongue kisses him the moment the needle slides harmlessly through Sam’s frenulum, exactly as it’s supposed to.

            Sam doesn’t let go until he hears Pam say “it’s done, darling.”

            Every single nerve ending in Sam’s body is firing off in rapid fashion, trying to re-acclimate how he’s supposed to be feeling with how he _actually_ does.  Pam and Rebecca leave them for a moment to get dressed, and Sam fully expects his knees to cut out from under him when he stands up, looking for his jeans.

            “You feel okay?”  Dean’s touching him in all the places he can, like he’s just found Sam bleeding on the ground after a hunt.

            “Yeah, just… is violated an okay word to use?”

            “An old lady saw my asshole, Sam, I think it’s fine.”  Dean cracks a smile, and Sam laughs – well he tries, but it makes his entire body hurt.  Dean cups his face and kisses him again, soft and sweet.

            Sam breaks it, his voice low and quiet.  “That’s not how you’re gonna do it once we get out of here, I hope.”

            “Sam, it’s like you don’t know me at all – I’m gonna bite the _shit_ out of you.”

            Jesus, the anticipation alone is enough to make his hair stand on end.  “Bite me too hard and you’re getting choked.”

            “With that fat cock?”

            Sam growls, wanting to push Dean up against the wall and just _grope_ him.  “Depends on how loud you get for me.”

            “Oh, Sam, I’m gonna fucking _scream_.”  The fact that Dean looks absurdly happy when he says that should be a sign that maybe they shouldn’t, given that they’ve just been touched in very deep ways by two almost strangers, even if it was necessary.  “Better call Cas, and soon.”

            To his credit, Cas doesn’t try and question what they’ve done to themselves _that_ much.

 

___

            There have been many sexually charged rides back to motels, abandoned houses, campgrounds, and the like in their lifetime.  Sam’s never not loved them, the overwhelmingly intense anticipation always making his skin tingle, ready for Dean’s touch, not matter how he gets it.  He’s already playing it through his head, what might happen, the way they’re going to ruin each other for the millionth time.

            Out of all of those journeys, this is the one that nearly has Sam creaming his pants while they’re still in the car.

            Cas had healed them, doing exactly what they had asked.  It had been just a little uncomfortable explaining to him _where_ exactly to do it, but it had worked, in the end.

            Sam just wishes he’d jumped Dean before they’d gotten in the car, if only to take some of the edge off of how he’s feeling.

            They still have ten minutes, and Dean keeps reaching for his chest, wearing only his button down and even that’s all the way open, one hand on the wheel and the other inside his shirt.

            “Dude, stop touching yourself,” Sam grunts, feeling less and less bad about how he wants to put his hand in his pants and play with his foreskin.  “You’re gonna crash.”

            “Sam, you’ve given me road head how many times?”  Dean finally manages to extract his hand from his shirt and at least let Sam hold it, keeping them both occupied.  “Don’t think that playing with my tits is gonna make a whole lot of difference.”

            “Would it helped if I said _I_ want to mess with ‘em?”

            Dean bites his tongue, shaking his head.  “What do you think I’ve been thinking about this whole time?”

            “Rebecca?,” Sam teases, just to make Dean pinch him.

            “Jerk, no – Christ, Sam, this… this was _your_ idea in the first place.”

            “And it feels kinda hot, doesn’t it?”

            “Kinda?”  They come to a stoplight, and Sam can’t stop Dean from leaning over and kissing him hard enough to steal his breath away.  “I feel like a damn porn star, like… I should be showing all this off.”

            Sam bites at his lip, growling “for me.”

            Dean whimpers when Sam sneaks his hand up to his shirt and pinches his right nipple, plumper, bigger, more pronounced with the piercing in it – and Dean fucking _melts._

“Only you, Sammy.”

            It’s not a concession, just a truth that Sam likes to hear every now and then.

            Yeah, Dean’s going to get _pounded._

After Sam eats him out until he’s crying, of course.

            The light turns, and Sam has to let go of Dean.  He’s starting to sweat with anticipation, touching his chest where the tattoo is and while it’s nice to have it again, his skin doesn’t really feel any different.  Getting it done had been what set him off, not that tat itself.  He runs his hands down his body to his hips, his fingers sliding over the dermal piercings now firmly embedded in his hips.

            Arousal curls hotly in his lower body, just the thoughts of Dean’s hands being right fucking _there_ doing more than they should for him.  “We’re going to need a week,” Sam says, chasing his breath where it seems to have suddenly run out.  “Maybe two.”

            “For what?”

            “Sex.  All of it.”  There have certainly been stretches in the past where they had holed themselves up in the Bunker, clothing optional, just to touch and feel and experience each other without having to worry – and Sam certainly has no problem doing it again, now that they have about a million new ways to light each other up.

            Dean’s eyes get big, like he’s just found ten thousand dollars on the ground or some stripper just stuffed her g-string in his mouth.  “Better put your money where your mouth is.”

            “Between your legs.”

            Dean outright moans, and Sam wishes that traffic would move just a _little_ bit faster.  He wants to touch Dean, himself, it doesn’t fucking matter, because he’s so goddamn horny that his lizard brain is starting to hijack almost all of his higher thought processes.  He doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on, not even when Dean started to take to wearing panties every now and then under his fed suit…

            No, that was still pretty fucking hot.

            He grinds his heal against his dick, feeling extra heavy in his pants with the piercing through it.  He’s been wet enough to have soaked right through his underwear since they got in the car, and he’s not at all surprised to find a damp patch down the left thigh of his jeans.  “Crap.”

            “What’s… oh.”  Dean sees it, turning on the overhead light to get a better look.  “Shit, Sammy, did you just come?”

            “No, that’s uh, precome.  A shit ton of it.”

            The hungry look in Dean’s eyes speaks volumes, and right now Sam would give anything to feel Dean’s mouth around him.

            Their motel finally comes into view, and the second they’re parked, neither of them waste a second getting out.  Sam’s got his door key out before he’s halfway there, with Dean nearly stumbling to try and catch up. 

            The door gets slammed so hard that dust shakes itself from the ceiling, right down on top of their heads – not that it matters, because Dean’s pinned before either of them can be entirely sure of who moved first.  All Sam cares about is Dean, pinned to the door and doing his absolute best to devour as much of him as he can.

            Dean’s shirt is gone in an instant, his body naked, pressing up against Sam’s inch for inch, rubbing himself against as much of Sam as he can.  Sam’s hands are on his chest, grabbing at his chest, rubbing his palms against his nipples, catching them with the ridges and callouses that hunting has permanently put there.  Dean doesn’t let him win, not yet, scrambling to pull Sam’s shirt up and pull at his hips.  He catches his piercings just right, rubbing his thumbs over those precious bits of steel.

            Sam feels like he’s just been hit with a tranquilizer, and decides that their unfortunately stiff king-size bed looks like absolute heaven.

            Dean doesn’t protest, either, when Sam picks him up, throws him over his shoulder and carries him over to the bed.  It works all the time at home, so there’s absolutely no reason for it to not do the same here.  He doesn’t so much drop Dean as he does fall with him, catching Dean’s hands and pinning them above his head so that he can ravish his mouth again.  He ruts and grinds against Dean’s hips, seeking friction that he knows isn’t going to satisfy.

            He’s stopped before he can do it for too long, Dean wriggling just far enough away to make Sam start to chase him.  “Naked, Sammy, I’m not waiting for you to make the decision yourself.”  He gives Sam a kiss before he gets himself out from under his grip, reaching to get his jeans off.  Sam stands up, making a show of stripping off his t-shirt and showing off his new adornments.  He flexes his abs, making his piercings pop _hard._

“Take a picture, Dean, it’ll last longer.”

            Isn’t that what Dean had told him a few days ago?

            Dean’s boots drop to the floor, along with his jeans and underwear.  “Yeah, why the hell would I do that when I can just reach out and do this?”

            Right as Sam’s getting his jeans down his thighs, Dean’s _on him,_ slurping down his cock in one smooth, aggravatingly fast move.

            “Holy fuck, _Dean._ ”

            He feels his piercing against Dean’s tongue, teasing him with the flat part of it, then the tip, sucking just the head into his mouth and pushing his tongue under Sam’s foreskin.  Dean holds Sam by the hips, right next to his piercings.  He rubs, digs, adjusts his touch with how hard he sucks Sam’s cock.  All three points are connected, and Dean makes _damn_ sure that Sam’s watching when he points his cock straight up and licks him like a popsicle, lapping at his spit-and-precome soaked shaft.  He laves his tongue over the piercing, circling it, sucking on it, and every single fucking thing he does drives Sam absolutely _wild._

“Dean, baby, fuck… fuck me, that feels so fucking _good._ ”

            Dean pops off of him, having taking him down to the base again.  “Told you,” he says, sounding even more fucked out that before.  “You’re getting head every morning.”

            “Jesus, Dean, you already do that.”

            “Your point?”

            Sam doesn’t have a reply, because Dean’s sucking his cock again and it’s absolute heaven, especially when he makes contact with all three piercings at the same time.  God, he’s just handed Dean a built-in torture device, one that he damn well knows will be used and abused – but in a good way.

            Trouble being, Sam wants to get his mouth on _Dean,_ no matter how good the blowjob is, and it’s very, _very_ good.

            “My turn.”

            Dean gets pushed backwards, thick strings of spit bowing and then disconnecting as he’s shoved onto his back.  “Sammy, what…”

            Sam’s got his legs in the air before Dean can properly adjust, and Sam wastes not a second before diving in.  He kisses down from Dean’s balls right to the capture ring now firmly bedded in in perineum and the moment he runs his tongue over it, Dean fucking howls.

Dean claims that Sam’s cock is going to be spending a lot more time in his mouth – fine.  But Dean’s ass?  Sam may as well go back to Pam and Rebecca’s shop and have them tattoo “this belongs to Sam” across Dean’s ass cheeks.  He kind of loses it with eating Dean out, rubbing his beard all over his thighs, tonguing his hole, _making_ Dean get louder and louder.  He can’t fucking get enough, and Dean’s at the point where he’s got his legs wrapped around Sam’s head, trying to make him bury his tongue in his ass.

They both know Sam’s not down here to try and work him open, not this time – this is just to make Dean even hotter for it.  “Had enough yet?”

Dean growls and pulls Sam to him, kissing the taste of himself from Sam’s mouth.  He uses the temporary lull to get his hands back on Dean’s chest, pinching and rolling his nipples – it makes Dean buck up against him, and Sam does it that much harder.’

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Dean moans, but he’s not exactly trying to make Sam stop.  “Just…”  He can’t even speak right now, and that’s what gives Sam an idea.

“Lube?”

Dean retrieves it from under his pillow and presses it into his hand.  Ten agonizingly slow minutes later, Sam’s cock is buried to the hilt in Dean’s ass and Sam’s mouth is full of his tongue.

That’s all the warm-up Dean’s getting – Sam’s on a mission, and he’s not going to let himself be stopped.  His hands wander back to Dean’s chest, right to those gorgeous, plump, _hard_ nipples.

“Got such pretty little tits, sweetheart.”  Sam’s voice is pitched low, low enough to make Dean’s skin rumble.  “You like it when I play with ‘em?”

Dean nods, his fingers digging into Sam’s biceps as he fucks into him, slow, deep, _long._ “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”  Sam adjusts his posture a little, letting his weight bear down into Dean.  “You’re going to come from this, Dean, just like this.  Not even gonna touch yourself, just me playing with you perky nipples.”  Sam pinches a little harder, pleased with how it makes Dean’s back arch.  “You like that baby?”

Dean’s eyes roll back, Sam knowing his body well enough to figure out he’s hitting his prostate.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

“Mmm.”  Sam leans down and kisses Dean’s chest, keeping his right hand on Dean’s nipple while he takes the left in his mouth, nibbling at the peak, tonguing, sucking, _biting._ Dean squirms and squirms, trying to get closer to Sam’s mouth and even further down on his cock, wanting to make things go faster but completely unable to do anything about it.

Dean really has no fucking clue as to how goddamn close Sam is to blowing right now, because every time he fucks forward into Dean his hips bump the backs of his thighs where Dean has his knees hooked over Sam’s shoulders.  Not a bit of daylight can get between them right now, nothing else existing but what they’re doing to each other.  It drives Sam wild, knowing that this isn’t going to change, that he can make Dean come and plead and feel good even more now, that _he_ can have the same fucking thing.

It’s going to make him fucking come, buried balls deep in his brother’s ass.

“Close,” Sam hums, his mouth still on Dean’s chest.  “Come with me, baby, come on my cock.”  He bites harder, speeds up his hips to at least try and match his movements with the overload of sensations coursing through his body.  Dean’s clutching him hard, his breath coming in hot, short little pants that almost match his heartbeat, mouth open and his head back.

“Sam, you-”

The world melts away, all hot, wet pulses and Dean crying out Sam’s name, both of them completely fucked up on each other for one of God knows how many times.  Sam gets pulled under, melding into Dean as he empties himself deep inside his body – he swears their souls touch, just for a moment, and the resulting mess is Dean coming all over himself and Sam.

Once they’re spent, Sam can’t even bear to pull himself away yet.

Dean’s an absolute mess, his chest a star map of fresh bruises and teeth marks, both nipples swollen red and _wet._ “That was…”

Dean has the fucking audacity to _grin,_ his fingers still glued to Sam’s biceps.  “Something we’re doing again.”

Sam wants to, already aching for another hit of… _that._ “Christ, how are you already… I need a fucking minute.”

“Tell you what, Sammy – why don’t you let _me_ drive for once?”

It really isn’t any sort of burden to watch Dean play with his nipples and rock out to some unheard slow jam on his cock.

Not in the slightest.

             

 

           

**Author's Note:**

> HUUUUUGE shout out to Kat for linking me a bunch of how-tos on all the piercings mentioned in this fic so that I didn't look like a goof, and also to Rizzo for being an absolute rock star with their beautiful edits/general cheerleading. Y'all are treasures whom I am VERY glad to have amidst the creative clusterfuck that is my scribbling.


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